


How We Tread the Centuries

by thevorpalsword



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Andy and Quynh being cute, Andy trolls linguists online you cannot change my mind, Booker is here too and he wants you all to know he helps as well, Conversations about heavy and horrific historical events, Discussions of The Crusades, Discussions of Violence and Mass Murder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Far Future, Found Family Feels, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Joe and Nicky being adorable, M/M, Nicky is there to help her, Nicky predates Italy and he will not hesitate to remind you of it, Nile is coming to grips with her time in the US Marines, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 01:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30031086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevorpalsword/pseuds/thevorpalsword
Summary: Rank and file lines of soldiers, all in the same gray brown uniforms, their faces digitally blurred march past the camera. She can't hear the news caster, and doesn't read the subtitles. The details aren't really important to her right now. She doesn't have the space to think about the context.All Nile sees really, is the familiar outline of desert mountains behind the parade of soldiers.They're still the same. She doesn't know why she thought they'd look different.Nile struggles with her past. Nicky helps. There's also some cliff-diving.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolo di Genoa
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	How We Tread the Centuries

**Author's Note:**

> This fic features some discussions of heavy topics. Including: mass murder, The Crusades, moral responsibility for one's actions, and atonement. Like Nile, I'm an American, and so I definitely have my biases. I tried my level best to do my research, and write this mindful of the sensitive nature of these topics. I may have failed in some regards. If there is any part of this story that causes offense, or seems disingenuous, please let me know. If there is something that you feel I should tag for, or include as a content warning, please let me know. 
> 
> Please take care of yourselves and your mental health, first and foremost.

Nile is about a week shy of her 98th birthday when she, for the very first time in her immortal existence, asks for a break. 

Her little family, bless each one of them, doesn’t hesitate at all. Booker calls their new handler who takes the request in stride and clears the pending job by outsourcing to some other group or mercenary. Joe organizes the payment from one of their many accounts right then and there. Nicky immediately starts packing their things up, while Andy scrolls through flight options on the living room holo. 

Quynh sits with her on the couch and with her nimble, gentle fingers, helps Nile undo her braids so she can wash the blood and brains out later. This job was...hard to say the least.

"I'm sorry," Nile says, because even though she knows there's nothing wrong with asking for time off, she still feels bad. Quynh just hums in response, and shakes her head. The other woman gives a small, loving tug on one of the braids in wordless dismissal. 

"I know," Nile replies to the silent rebuke. "I don't have to be sorry, but...you all don't have to come with me. You can keep working and I'll catch up?"

It comes out as a question, because if she's honest, she doesn't want them taking jobs without her. They work their best as a full team. 

"I was thinking Spain?" Andy asks the room at large, but is looking at Nile when she does. It's clear from the no-arguments look on the older woman's face that she's heard what Nile has said and disagrees on all points.

"Spain's cool," Nile says, "Which coast?"

"How about the Bay of Biscay?" Nicky asks as he passes through the living room carrying his sword and Joe’s in the crook of one elbow, his rifle in its case, and the rest of the leftover C4 in his other hand.

"Oh, if we're voting then yes please to Biscay, haven't been to that house in ages." Joe enthuses, glancing up from his comm. By Nile’s memory it’s only been about 20 years, but well, the northern Spain house is really nice.

"Northern it is," Andy decides, switching over to the EuroZone’s hover rail site and purchasing a block of tickets. 

No one asks her any questions. They don't press or speak about it behind her back. They just get the tickets, pack away most of their weapons, organize their bags and head out.

* * *

At the terminal in Odessa, waiting on their evening sleeper train, Nile watches the news cast on the terminal wall. 

Rank and file lines of soldiers, all in the same gray brown uniforms, their faces digitally blurred march past the camera. She can't hear the news caster, and doesn't read the subtitles. The details aren't really important to her right now. She doesn't have the space to think about the context. 

All Nile sees really, is the familiar outline of desert mountains behind the parade of soldiers. 

They're still the same. She doesn't know why she thought they'd look different.

* * *

The train ride out is spent largely sleeping. Andy didn't just buy a block of seats she bought out an entire car. So they get to spend the trip lounging about across the seats. Joe wedges himself against a window and Nicky takes that as an invitation to sprawl across his chest and conk out pretty much instantly. (To be fair to Nicky, Nile knows by now that Joe absolutely meant it as an invitation, and is delighted his husband took him up on it.)

Quynh cues up some new movie on her holo. Andy starts off watching it but gets bored and instead trolls people on whatever digital forum that is currently most popular. Nile kinda stopped keeping close track after Twitter died. Andy likes to annoy historians and linguists. A pastime that Nile introduced her to, back during the halcyon days of Reddit and r/askahistorian.

Booker reads of course, sitting across the table from her, quietly turning the pages of a first edition of Don Quixote. He reads passages out loud to her every so often, and Nile appreciates the chance to help her brain more firmly make the switch to Spanish. Even if it's medieval Spanish. 

Nile for her part just stares out the window. And when the sun goes down and the dim lights of the car cast her reflection starkly in the glass, she stares at herself. 

The arch of her brows, which every day remind her of her mother. The familiar slope of her nose, the same shape as her brother's. Her eyes. Which look like the eyes of a 98 year old, while her face stays perpetually 26. 

"Cherie," Booker calls softly and Nile looks over at him. He's closed the book and gestures to the table between them. "Can I fold it up? I was going to sleep."

"Oh yea, of course."

She shuffles her own, untouched book off the surface and into her bag. Booker folds the table away and swings out the leg supports of the bench seat he's in. The space isn't big enough for him, none of the spots on the train really are, but it's certainly better than nothing. He punches his jacket into a more comfortable shape as he uses it to pillow his head against the window.

"Try to sleep," he whispers. Nile glances around and sees that other than Joe, who keeps an eye on both ends of the car from his spot, everyone else is already asleep. 

"Okay," Nile replies. And settles down in her own bench seat. Booker drops off fairly quickly. Nile does try. It's hit or miss, honestly.

* * *

The train reaches Bilbao in the pre-dawn light while the city itself still sleeps. Nile sits up once the fields and open hills give way to the edges of the suburbs and watches the city grow closer in the distance. She glances around and finds that Joe is also awake, drowsily passing his hand through Nicky’s hair. It looks like they slept like that the entire night.

"Do you think we've got time to get coffee?" Joe asks quietly, seeing her awake. 

Nile checks her comm for their ETA, and decides that yea, they probably have time for a fast cup if she goes up to the food car now.

"Yea, I'll go grab everyone something, you gotta wake them all up though." She teases. Joe puts a hand over his collarbone in mock hurt, since Nicky is fully snoozing against his chest, the man's ear must be perfectly placed over Joe's heart. They’re so cute.

"If I must. It is a good thing I cannot be killed, Nile, you know how Andy reacts to being woken up before dawn."

"Worry about prying Nicky off yourself first, hot shot." She points out as she walks by, gesturing to the two of them expansively. As she exits the back of the car she can just make out Joe coaxing Nicky awake in gentle Italian, while Nicky grumbles back in Maltese.

She collects the coffee from the dispenser in the cantina, thankfully the first one there and thus the first to hit up the fresh pot that just brewed. An employee helpfully gives her a tray and she loads up on the various implements and additives that everyone loves. Brown sugar for Booker, heavy cream for Quynh, honey for Joe, and two extra caffeine shots, one for Nicky and one for Andy.

She lets her hands work and doesn't look at the screen behind the counter of the cantina, running the mid-day news from India. 

When she gets back everyone's up, and no one's really happy about it. 

"Am I allowed to call first shower at the house?" Joe asks as he shrugs on his jacket. 

"Nope, standard rules apply, battle royale for hot water." Andy retorts.

She hands out the coffees and additions to which everyone offers their thanks. The train pulls into the station before Nile can finish hers, but at least Andy's got a decent amount of caffeine on board and Nicky no longer looks like he's a sleep deprived first year medical student.

They shuffle through the rigmarole of whatever passes as ‘customs’ these days. It’s a painless process thanks to their flawless forged identities, and in no time they’re piling into two different cars heading out into the early morning. Nile doesn’t quite remember where the house is, only that it’s on the coast, less than a mile from the beach in fact.

It doesn’t matter very much as she’s not driving either car. For whatever reason, the car ride lulls her into a drowsy state that she couldn’t achieve on the train and the ride becomes nothing but a blur. 

The sun is well up into the sky by the time they pull up out front of the house. It’s a comely looking place, oddly shaped. Joe told her last time that was because he and Nicky had added on to the original house several times since they bought the land. How long exactly they’ve had it is unknown, Joe thinks it was the 1450s or so; Nicky insists they didn’t actually own the land until 1559. (“No, _caro_ , just because we’ve been squatting here on and off for centuries didn’t make it ours. And we didn’t have the money to actually buy the land until the 1550s. Remember? You sold that sculpture in Verona and insisted we spend the money on property.”)

Nile smiles at the memory as they all stumble into the house. Joe throws open the doors and windows to start the airing out process. Quynh claims the first shower by being the sneakiest and just getting there first. Andy smugly joins her with a wave of her fingers.

Nile lays down on the couch in the main room, shoes still on, and somehow drops off into sleep. The last thing she remembers is someone gently drawing a blanket up around her shoulders. It smells like dust, summer sunlight, and tea.

* * *

Booker finds her later. Sitting out on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling in the open air over the Bay of Biscay. It’s been about two days so far; and everyone seems to be content in just milling around, letting her set the pace and picking her own activities, always inviting her along to whatever they’re doing, just in case.

Joe and Nicky like to get up in the morning and sit in this spot with their coffee and watch the sunrise. Andy and Quynh go on runs together along the cliff side, before climbing down to the shoreline about a mile away and sunbathing nude on the rocks until it gets too cold. Booker has a spot under one of the only trees still standing on this blustery edge; where he can wedge himself in around the gnarled roots and sit comfortably with a book.

And Nile? Nile likes to sit right here, on the edge, feet dangling off. The sea crashes against the cliff side below, a steady comforting roar of sound.

“What’s wrong, cherie?” He asks quietly, sitting down next to her. “You’ve been off for days.”

“Who sent you to ask?”

Booker huffs, playing at offense. “No one sent me. We’ve all noticed, but I’m asking.”

Nile tears off a piece of grass and worries it between her fingers. Wrapping it around and around and around one of her fingers before letting it go. She picks another and repeats the process. Booker waits.

“I saw the news a few nights ago, when we were killing time in that train terminal in Odessa.”

“Alright,” Booker replies, “What specifically did you see?”

“Afghanistan.”

“...ah.”

“Yea.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, cherie,” Booker replies, his voice nothing but a sure, calm whisper. “I do. I see. I may not fully understand, but I see.”

“I’m not sure what to feel right now.”

“You don’t know what you feel, or you don’t know how to deal with what you’re feeling?” Booker asks, a wry smile tugging on his lips. Nile snorts. She’s repeated that exact question to him many times. Not nearly as much in the past couple of decades, but definitely many, many times during the first couple.

“The second one.”

“Okay. Hold on a second, I think I know what to do with this one.” Booker says as he gets to his feet and dusts his pants off. “Stay right here, I’ll be back.”

And he goes striding off back towards the house. 

Nile watches him go, befuddled, but a little amused. 

The house is situated in a small shallow valley on the cliff top, so Booker actually has to go down the hillside a bit and she loses sight of him. As it is, she can really only see the top third of the roof of the cottage from here anyway. The house is a tad too small for all six of them, as there’s only two bedrooms and one bathroom. But the climate of northern Spain is so mild none of them really notice because they all spend so much time outside.

Booker comes back into view, climbing the hill. Nicky is with him, and he’s carrying something but Nile can’t make out what at this distance. Booker has both hands on Nicky’s shoulders and seems to be steering him determinedly towards Nile’s perch. 

Once they’re close enough, Nile is bewildered to see that Nicky is carrying one of the mixing bowls from the kitchen, complete with a wooden spoon sticking out of it. He even has an apron on, an old faded novelty one that just reads “Recipe? What Recipe? No. I’m Italian.” She’d laughed the first time she saw him wear it. It’s clear now that Booker is indeed half pushing Nicky up the hill, and the man is making confused noises in Arabic as he obediently trucks up to Nile’s side.

Booker pushes him down, actually nudging the back of one of his knees to get him to sit. Nicky manages to do so somewhat gracefully, and switches to indignant Italian noises. 

“What are you doing?” Nile asks.

Booker gestures to Nicky emphatically. “He can help.”

“I can help with what?” Nicky asks exasperated, in French. 

“You can help Nile.”

“I’d be delighted to help Nile,” Nicky instantly agrees, and there’s not an ounce of insincerity there, not even as a joke. “But with what, Booker?”

“Nope, I got you here, my part is done. I’m going inside, where I will finish making dinner for you, and make sure that there’s wine for when you’re both ready.”

And with that, Booker is off down the hill again, not looking back at all, but with the air of a man who knows he’s done a good job.

Nile and Nicky look at each other, perplexed. Nicky wordlessly offers her the mixing bowl. It’s full of caprese, which when Nicky makes it, is one of her favorite things.

(“I thought it was supposed to be arranged on a plate, not tossed like a salad?” Nile asks the first time Nicky makes it for her.

“I pre-date the introduction of tomatoes to Europe, Nile. I can make caprese how I please.”

Nile considers it, and then nods. “That’s fair.”)

She helps herself to the wooden spoon and takes a big bite of it. The basil instantly fills her taste buds, followed by the crispness of the tomatoes, picked fresh from their wild garden that morning, and followed by smooth mozzarella that Joe had found at the market. She takes another bite. Nicky lets her.

“I can’t believe he interrupted you cooking.” Nile says, rolling her eyes.

“I have been plucked from worse things,” Nicky says, switching easily to English. Nicky always switches to English for her, even though she’s nearly a century and has picked up several languages. It’s something that she’s always quietly appreciated about him. His willingness to always speak to her in her mother tongue. “What am I helping you with?”

“I don’t know.”

Nicky just hums, and she can tell he doesn’t believe her. He shifts around, getting comfortable. Dropping his own feet off the edge of the cliff, he kicks them around like a little kid, and picks a piece of mozzarella out of the bowl for himself. The sea spray tickles their feet as the wind blows it up towards them from the surf below.

“Okay, I know what you’re meant to help me with, I just don’t know why he’s insistent that you’re going to be the one that helps me.”

“I’m very helpful,” Nicky teases.

“You are, but I think this one I need to sort out on my own.”

“If that is what you wish, I will go back inside. But, Nile, you don’t have to be alone to sort your thoughts out on your own. You can be around us, and be quiet. We will not pester you, or ask for answers you cannot give us. If you just want space to think, we can give you that without you having to sit out here like a character from _Wuthering Heights_.”

“You’re telling me to quit brooding.”

“Well, I think Booker has the market cornered on brooding, don’t you?”

Nile laughs. She does feel better when she’s with her family. No matter what her head space is. She looks down at their feet, swinging free in the open air. She took off her shoes before sitting down, while Nicky was apparently ferried up here barefoot.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in the best of moods these past few days.”

“You do not have to apologize. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I just...I saw that Afghanistan is...back in the news.”

Nicky is in the middle of picking another piece of mozzarella out of the bowl and freezes. He drops his hand.

“Ah. Yes. I saw that.”

Nicky sets the bowl to the side and wraps an arm around Nile’s shoulders. She leans in a little. Nicky gives excellent hugs, even side ones that normally feel awkward. 

They sit quietly for several minutes.

“When the call went out for the Second Crusade, it hadn’t even been 50 years since Joe and I had died the first time. We knew that Edessa had fallen a few years before, but…” Nicky trails off for a moment, his jaw working tightly before he continues. “I don’t know what I thought at the time, honestly I think I was trying very hard to just not think about what Edessa falling would likely mean.

“Joe and I were in Constantinople when part of the crusader force arrived. We didn’t fight in the battle that happened there; but we heard about it. Joe asked me what I wanted to do, and I couldn’t answer him. I knew I didn’t want to participate on the side of the crusaders. I’d already come to understand what I’d participated in at Jerusalem was wrong. But at the same time, I couldn’t imagine joining the Zengids either. I was afraid, I think, of falling to fanaticism again.”

Nile fidgets with another blade of grass.

“What did you end up doing?” she asks.

“I left.” Nicky replies. He kicks his feet a little harder, his own kind of fidget. 

“What about Joe?”

“He went to Damascus. Ended up fighting for the city when the crusaders came for it.”

“You two actually picked different things? And separated?” Nile asks, surprised. 

“We aren’t always attached at the hip.” Nicky replies with a chuckle. “Especially during that time. We parted and returned to each other a lot in the early days.”

“But you were already lovers,” Nile points out.

“We were.”

“How long were you apart?”

“About a year. Joe came and found me in Baghdad, after. I was attending school to learn medicine.”

He looks at her, his blue eyes calm, despite the subject matter.

“I decided that if I couldn’t fight in some battles, then I’d best learn to do something else to help. Healing seemed like a good choice.”

“What about the other crusades?”

“By the time the Third Crusade rolled around, Joe and I weren’t even near Jerusalem, we were actually on the other side of the Black Sea, deep in the steppes, looking for Andy and Quynh. We ended up going about as far as Samara before turning back.”

“We returned to Constantinople and stayed for a few years. Joe became a carpenter; I was working as a scrivener. We were there when they sacked the city – that was the Fourth Crusade.”

Nicky falls silent for a moment, his fingers drum a soft pattern against her arm. She can tell he’s trying to think of the right words in English for her. She waits.

“We fought in that one. It wasn’t even a question, Joe didn’t have to ask me at all. We both were ready to defend our home. When it became clear the city was lost, we worked on helping people escape, tried to protect some of the holy places.”

“After that,” Nicky continues, “We went west for a while. Ended up helping Christian Cathars escape persecution in France. That was...an awful time. The people who were hunting the Cathars believed fervently that the killing and violence they were doing was God’s will; that it was even an act of divine love and devotion to participate in such horrific behavior. As you can imagine,” here Nicky gestures to himself with his free hand, “That was a...well, it held up a rather large mirror to my actions in the Holy Land and I spent a great deal of time during those short years in a very dark place.”

Nile nods her head in understanding. “When I was in Afghanistan, I knew a couple of soldiers who would say this...quote, this awful quote – ‘Kill them all and let -”

“...And let God sort them out,” Nicky finishes, shuddering. “I keep hoping that phrase will leave the lexicon entirely, and yet, it keeps resurfacing. That phrase got its start in France, during the Crusade I’m talking about, the people hunting the Cathars were Christians too.” He picks up the bowl again and sets it in his lap. Nile steals a piece of mozz for herself.

“How’d you end up dealing with it all?” she asks.

“Joe helped,” Nicky says instantly, as if there was a doubt in Nile’s mind. “And that act of protecting these people helped. It was still hard though, it was work. A long slow climb out of the dark, so to speak. I came to understand there is really no ‘enough’; there’s never going to be a point where it feels....reckoned.

“In the end, little sister,” Nicky says quietly, “What I realized while helping smuggle hunted innocents to safer places is this: if all the terrible things people have done to one another over the thousands of years is an inherent part of who we are as a species...then so is all of the wonderful things we’ve done for each other. They don’t cancel each other out; our lives are not mathematical equations that can be balanced. What I did in Jerusalem is a part of who I am, it’s a part of the story of my life, and it’s a terrible piece of me that I will always be ashamed of. 

“But it isn’t everything I am. I love my Yusuf, with every atom of my being, that is also a part of my story. I have killed people who did not deserve to die. I am a beloved family member. We are the whole of it, but we get to choose everyday what to do, how to be, who to love, what to believe. And so I choose everyday to love Joe, to love you, and our family; to be better than the Frank that stood outside the gates of Jerusalem and thought that he was doing God’s will.”

“So it’s about our choices,” Nile replies.

“It always is. You cannot undo the past, Nile. I cannot take back what I have done. I can only take what I have learned, and try every day to make better choices.”

Nile looks out at the sea, her eyes tearing up for reasons she can’t name, except this profound, deep, sadness.

“Will it ever stop? The violence we do to ourselves, to each other?” She asks quietly, looking over at Nicky. His eyes are equally as sad as she feels. Tears glimmer at their edges too.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. Nile nods, silently crying now, knowing that was true. He takes her hand, setting the bowl aside again. He squeezes her hand until she looks up at him again.

“But I hope so, Nile. I choose hope so every day.”

They sit there on the edge, feet hanging off, and say nothing else for a while. The sea crashes on, the gulls soaring on the cliff’s updrafts call to one another as they glide by, and the sun creeps down towards the horizon.

Finally, at some unknown point later, Nicky looks over at her again, his eyes dry and asks:

“Ready to head in?”

Nile considers her feelings, and despite feeling a little more centered, she still feels restless. Talking about it has brought clarity, but not necessarily peace. She wonders if it will always be so. She could ask Nicky, but she doesn’t want to know the answer just yet. 

Nicky must see the answer in her face because he just nods, and gets to his feet. But instead of leaving her like she expects, he unties the apron, pulls it over his head and drops it. Then he strips off his shirt and unbuttons his tattered cargo shorts while shimming out of them. He’s left in nothing but a thin pair of boxers and a grin. 

“How do you feel about cliff diving?” He asks, backing up from the edge, but keeping his eyes on her. Nile gapes at him.

“You cannot be serious.”

Nicky keeps backing up, now eyeing the distance with a critical, calculating eye. 

“Nicky.”

“You have to time it just right here, you want to make the leap about three seconds after the last crash.”

“Nicky.”

“The water is very cold, so just forewarning, make sure your lungs are empty when you hit the surface otherwise it’ll be incredibly unpleasant.”

“Nicky, Joe will murder me if you die.”

“Who do you think tested this first?”

“Did you murder him after he died?”

“Thought about it. Went swimming with him instead.”

Nile opens her mouth to retort something, she’s not even sure what when she stops and thinks about what he just said.

“When was this?” she asks suddenly. Nicky smiles at her even more brightly. 

“It was called the Kingdom of Castile back then,” he answers, teasing. “1228, I think. Maybe 1229. It was summer then, too.”

He shifts his right foot behind him, and swings it back and forth a little, making sure he has purchase.

“Come swimming with me, Nile. It’ll do you some good, and I’ll bet it will help you sleep tonight.”

She’s not surprised he knows she hasn’t been sleeping. Between Joe probably noticing on the train here and the fact that she’s been up making herself tea each night they’re undoubtedly all aware.

Nile gets up and takes off her shirt too, dropping it on top of his. She peels out of her leggings and walks over to stand next to him. He offers her his hand and she gratefully takes it. 

“Wait,” Nile says suddenly, in the hush right before a wave crashes. “How will we get back up?”

The wave hits the cliff face.

Nicky doesn’t spare her a glance, not this time. Instead he’s running flat out at top speed and Nile follows. In her head she breathlessly counts off the seconds as they run.

And he’s timed it perfectly because they’re both leaping off the cliff’s edge on ‘three’, screaming bloody fucking murder as they fall. The world is a rush of blue and blue and blue, the wind shrieks in her ears. She has just enough time to remember to exhale and she hits the water feet first.

Nile resurfaces with a gasp, cursing like crazy. Nicky is right there with her, their hands still clutched tight. He’s cursing a blue streak in his own mother tongue and Nile can’t help but start laughing. 

They hit the water on a swell, just far enough away that as the wave hits the rocks, they can easily swim out and slip down the back of it, further away from the cliff. Nicky tugs her along, cutting through the water with ease. They swim a little, then float on their backs along the gentle rolls and swells. 

“You didn’t answer me,” Nile says, loudly, so she knows he’ll hear her. “How are we getting back up?”

He laughs. “We’ll climb.”

Nile looks up at the cliff side, shining golden in the late afternoon light. 

“I wish you’d told me that before I’d jumped.”

“Don’t worry,” He says, his voice is warm. They’re still holding hands, linked across the top of the water to ensure they don’t drift too far apart. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

Nile rolls her eyes, but can’t help but smile too.

“Aren’t most things?”

He laughs again. “Yes.” He agrees. “They are.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> things i researched for this fic:  
> -the crusades, in particular 1-4 and the Cathars Crusade, more formally known as the Albigensian Crusade (which took place from 1209-1229)  
> -the phrase "Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius," or "Kill them all; let God sort them out."  
> -the distance between Odessa and Bilbao  
> -funny aprons for Nicky to wear; and yes the one mentioned here exists.  
> -previous invasions of Afghanistan and the current war  
> -r/askahistorian (which is a HUGE BLACK HOLE of distracting content)  
> -cliff diving in Spain
> 
> I wrote this several months ago and have debated posting it. I wrote it after seeing a post on Tumblr (which I have tried and cannot find, I'm so sorry) that remarked on Nile and wondering if she would ever have a moment of reckoning with regard to her participation in the war in Afghanistan. Right on the heels of this, I watched a YouTube video, created by one of my favorite channels: Like Stories of Old, called ["Lies of Heroism" - Redefining the Anti-War Film](https://youtu.be/yf0G2MPBEYM). And this story just kind of,,, happened. 
> 
> In the end, I had a lot of thoughts and feelings, and I dealt with them through writing.
> 
> HUGE thank you to Prevalent Masters, for having a look at this, giving excellent feedback AND wrangling my grammar. <3
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me a kudos or a comment. 
> 
> Y'all stay safe out there. <3
> 
> P.S. If anyone is feeling Some Kind Of Way about the past year, and all the things the world has gone through; I'd like to recommend another video by Like Stories of Old: [Who We Really Are...When Everything Goes Wrong](https://youtu.be/vT_sKGbP1yY). This one came out at the end of 2020; and was something that lifted my spirits immensely.


End file.
